


my blood became blue and silver (because of you)

by Hagebutt



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Trying Hard, a few vague sex scenes, but a bunch of other characters from Roche's path, geralt is pining, i hate writing emotions and this is full of emotions so :/, no iorweth here :/, retelling of assassins of kings game, roche is dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25426513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagebutt/pseuds/Hagebutt
Summary: This is basically retelling of the videogame The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings in a yes homo way.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Vernon Roche
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	1. When Ves realized

**Author's Note:**

> tw: allusions on hetero sex (no graphic descriptions).

Ves was most definitely the first one who remarked that the love Geralt felt to Triss wasn’t as strong as earlier. Well, given the circumstances, it wasn’t that surprising.

They were lying down, together, in the main tent of the Blue Stripes, which she normally shared with Commander Roche, but now they were alone on her camp-bed which was separated from the rest of the room by a curtain. Most of the Blue Stripes were allowed to come into main Kaedweni camp to see their duel but after the duel they were responsive enough to not come back to their camp with the two. Or maybe Roche told them so. The spy knew the small signs and maybe he didn’t want to thwart witcher’s business this time, as he did in Flotsam. How thoughtful.

Geralt was thoughtful now, too. He liked Ves, the girl took no shit and knew what she wanted from life, and he liked the chemistry that had evolved between them in the short span. He defeated her in a fair combat, and it obviously turned her on. Their intercourse was been great. He finally saw all her tattoos and it turned out he really liked tattoos on hot people. Their sex was nice, juicy, slow and fast at the same time. Ves seemed to like it too. She was now next to him, tracing his scars, as many women used to do… Geralt should feel good – it wasn’t easy to get this prideful, strong-meaning woman in bed. But something wasn’t entirely right.

“King Henselt is such an old scumbag,” she said and frowned.

“You aren’t saying anything new,” remarked Geralt tiredly.

“Could he stop watching me like he is trying to see through all my clothes? I like being in the army, but the number of old men stripping me with their eyes that I can’t say anything to, because they outrank me, is honestly just too much. I’m tired. And this one is a king!”

“Kings can do anything they want and it shows,” gruntled Geralt. He felt guilty now, somehow. Because of Triss? How horrible of him. The girl was somewhere out in these lands, and he should search after her with all his powers, and what did he do? Needless fights and sleeping with other women. Then he shook his head. It was not because of Triss. He actually did a lot. He spent immense amount of time with stupid tasks for Henselt, and yet tried to find some shortcut to Vergen, searched through the mountains to find some hidden path or at least a clue. 

And there was another thing: his feelings to Triss. He still liked the woman, how couldn’t he? She was so nice and kind. But he felt betrayed, the feeling of betrayal stayed and grew stronger. Why didn’t she say anything about Yennefer? Deep down he knew he didn’t feel unsettled because of Triss.

Poor Ves probably hoped Geralt would be more of the communicative type. “And then there’s the pressure to sleep with men, so they don’t think you’re some _witch apprentice_ and behave like idiots about it, but not too many, or you’re a whore,” she groaned. “It isn’t an easy life.”

 _Witch apprentice._ Geralt knew this phrase, it got coined thanks to Philippa Eilhart and meant a woman who sleeps with other women. “Is it that bad to like women as everyone else around you? Shouldn’t you then feel more like one of them?” asked he with interest. He met only a few women who could call themselves _witch apprentices_ and he knew next to nothing about their lives and roles in the society.

Ves sighed. “You’re a good guy, but a bit naïve, when it’s about men and women relationships. Except for the sex part, of course.”

Geralt got offended, but when he thought about it a bit more, he had to admit Ves was probably right. He really wasn’t the best with interpersonal stuff.

They were still for a few minutes.

“Honestly, I rather sleep with women,” said Ves and Geralt coughed from surprise. 

Well, maybe he shouldn’t be that surprised. “Why me, then?” he asked.

“There’s nothing bad with changing things up from time to time, especially when the man is as capable and worthy as you,” she smiled and hugged Geralt with her strong arms. He was pleased. It was nice that some woman as strong and respectable as Ves deemed him worthy.

“So, you understand that I sometimes struggle with it,” she said quietly. “The only one who takes it easy is Vernon, and even he isn’t that much supportive. You surely heard his favorite motto?”

Geralt looked at her with a question in his eyes.

“I went in the army specifically so I don’t have to deal with women,” she mocked Roche’s voice. “Poor guy, he has to deal with me.”

Geralt submerged into his thoughts. He wasn’t brave enough to think about the consequences of Ves’ sentence, so he nudged her to talk more. “He doesn’t like women?”

Ves laughed. “Oh my, no, Vernon favors men only. You haven’t realized?”

No, Geralt hasn’t realized. Only hoped. A pleasant feeling widened in his stomach.

“But you don’t exactly have to spread it,” warned him Ves.

“Of course. I’m not someone who’s interested in private stuff.”

“And yet you ask about Vernon’s private stuff.”

“What do you know? Maybe I have all the hots for Roche. Maybe everything I think about is sucking his cock,” Geralt tried to play irony.

He forgot this tactic worked on men, but not so great on women, who had tendency to look directly through and see the truth behind the words.

“So, you have all the hots for Roche,” repeated Ves, but she hasn’t said it mockingly. No, her voice was soft and genuine. “I wouldn’t have expected this from you.”

Geralt was silent. Of course, he could say something. Defend his womanizer aura. But he simply didn’t want to. Ves was the right one he could confide in about this feeling he had for some time now.

“I have to tell you something,” said Ves after a short, calm pause. “You’re a good fighter, you proved yourself to be helpful for our case, he quite likes you – as far as I can say. You have a chance. But don’t take it too seriously. He only has one love.”

“Temeria,” guessed Geralt.

“Right. You should keep this in mind. But, by any means, try to get closer to him. Maybe he won’t have anything against some good cocksucking from a witcher,” laughed Ves.

“What are you laughing about?” Roche’s voice thundered through the tent canvas.

“What is he doing here?” whispered the witcher desperately. “Is he going to cut my balls off now?”

“I won’t cut your balls off just because you slept with a girl I care for like my own daughter,” promised Roche, just as Ves laughed again and mouthed at him: “Have you forgotten he’s a spy? Now go and try to get into _his_ trousers instead.”


	2. When Geralt realized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather lengthy chapter without many dialogues, but I love to realize how gay actually that game is only with few minor changes.

Geralt felt like it came out of the blue, the kind of feelings he developed for the commander of the Blue Stripes. Well, maybe it didn’t; maybe it was only a natural order of things, as their relationship slowly evolved. But Geralt was blind against them for too long and now felt like being hit.

It hasn’t started easy for the two of them, as it was at best respectful distance in the beginning; Geralt appreciated the trust the commander put in him, firstly in the prison where he hadn’t taken the easiest route of simply hanging him, and later by relying on his skills as he helped him out of the prison. But that was all. Geralt knew Roche desperately wanted to find out who killed King Foltest and that he’s just a puppet in his plan; Roche knew the witcher’s here just because he can’t really go anywhere else. The relationship of mutual involuntary dependency reigned between them for a while.

But Geralt was never one of the people who manage perfectly without a company for a long time. He may be kind of lone wolf, but he felt too alone in the last time. So, he made acquaintances between the Blue Stripes. They were the men of his sort: hardened by life, soldiers, but well-travelled too and sharper minds than one would think. He got entangled with them and visited them a lot in their house, where they drank and made rough jokes.

He just thought of Roche as of a typical commander with his head too far up his arse when he humiliated the villagers, but then he later learned from Ves about his past and also listened to his men when they praised him over the beer, how he always helps them and that he never leaves anyone behind if possible. And his view shifted; Roche still behaved like a prick, but Geralt saw now his high position that needed to be maintained properly. Through the learned secret Geralt only found him more relatable, more human.  
And as the important decision came – to choose Triss or his honor – he chose the second option. Not because he held his honor important, but because the things he lived through with Roche were more than the forced loyalty to King Foltest, or the fragile ties to the two-faced elf he met a few moments ago.

As he helped executing Roche’s plan, he was glad he chose him. Firstly, Loredo definitely deserved this. Geralt heard a lot about him and spoke to him enough times to know the earth will only be lighter without a man like Loredo. Secondly, Geralt always appreciated competency. He himself needed to be competent, or he could easily get killed. And he saw what bullshit could cause people, who actually should be competent, having a reputation of good strategists or commanders – while they were just unprepared, dumb or foolishly brave. Roche was none of those. His plan was functional, ingeniously simple and had good backup. He really was a man of his place.

In Kaedwen things went the other way. Where in Flotsam the Blue Stripes were powerful and strong, in Kaedweni camp they had to live behind the walls and weren’t too welcome inside of the main camp. Well, in Flotsam they were still on Temeria’s land. And Loredo was corrupted. He couldn’t cause much turbulence, or he would attract Stripes’ attention and Roche’s rank was high. They even got their own house on the main square. The king of Kaedwen welcomed them rather coldly and after the audience they were forced to build a small encampment northeast from the walls, next to the small stream, merchants and a brothel. What an accompanion! Roche wasn’t happy about the brothel, Geralt knew that; he immediately prohibited his men to visit the red tent but couldn’t prevent them from peeking. At least the place was suitable for boxing.

It was a pretty big fall to lower level. Roche now had to maneuver very cautiously; neither Henselt nor Dethmold were happy to have him near their camp and they definitely wouldn’t be happy if he tried to strain his boundaries.

Geralt wasn’t as bound to the Stripes as to Henselt for now; he roamed through the hill passes and searched for various clues. Glevissig’s curse had big impact on terrain and it added to the complications. Geralt had a lot of time to think about himself, his path and his relationships which he entered since he lost the memory, when he had to avoid yet another pass full of the cursed fog.

It was weird to live with a memory loss. A lot of people told him stories about _Yennefer,_ how beautiful she was and how much he loved her, but for Geralt she was only a picture on water surface, someone he didn’t know in the true sense of knowing someone. He probably should find her and talk. It was important to clear what happened. But he wasn’t sure the feelings would wake up again. Which was sad, but well, life was sad, wasn’t it? Living longer than average people meant to live through more pain, he thought, that’s the price.

Talking about pain: he was still hurt that Triss hasn’t said anything about Yennefer before the memories came back. He really liked Triss. She helped him, especially in Wizima, a huge lot. But the feelings started wash off recently. The witcher didn’t like to be manipulated; and maybe Triss just wasn’t the right woman for him. She was kind. Sweet. Smiley. He was none of these things.

And it was more than just the manipulation; Geralt knew why he felt so betrayed. Triss hasn’t mentioned another important thing about his character. Well, nobody told him, probably because it was frowned upon: that he liked both men and women equally. He wasn’t surprised as he found out. It fell into his world view, where the balance was important. Everyone who knows balance is important knows as well how important it is to acknowledge both extremes. But the world obviously didn’t think so.  
Even his friend Dandelion, a shameless young man whose best friends were lust and moral corruption (next to art, as he proudly said) hasn’t said anything about Geralt’s inclinations. Geralt had to find out for himself, and after few short-lived crushes (literally short-lived, as there was a war going on) he confronted him about this. Dandelion actually meant well – he wanted to protect his friend, as he knew how are handled people with different taste. He thought that Geralt maybe forgot about this detail too and likes now exclusively women, as he was with Triss. Dandelion’s thought process often wasn’t that bright, so Geralt was angrier at Triss. She could tell him and not let him dwell in the dark.

He clearly had a great womanizer aura and it nearly always worked in his favor, but to enchant men was harder. They weren’t as ready to respond to his mating calls, and the most agreeable ones saw it as a short thing, whereas Geralt would like to have a friend, and then something more. That was obviously hard to achieve as he was on the road all the time: no time for building relationships.

That was how Roche came into the plan. He was on the road with him. The respect between them evolved into some kind of mutual camaraderie on the long ship route from Flotsam to Kaedwen. Geralt has never spent that much time with another guy ever, they were his enemies or dead at this point, and it seemed to be the same case for Roche. That just hardened as they both had to face difficulties from the duo Henselt-Dethmold and interacted in the time of stay in the Kaedweni camp. And now, and the witcher exactly knew how it came together, he was attracted to Commander Roche. On the lowest, animal base. _It was because of the damn boxing._

Geralt thought of it, just as he came back from some quest and decided to visit the barber for once. He wore the same, “Rivian” style as in Flotsam, and it was definitely time to change it. Was there a possibility to choose something he would captivate Roche enough with?

“What do you wish for, sir?” asked the barber.

“Something practical,” growled Geralt. He knew the commander. “But be sure to add a ponytail.”

 _It came like this to the boxing:_ After the big success Geralt had with boxing matches in Flotsam he decided to participate on some matches in Kaedweni camp. But King Henselt liked sword duels more, and Geralt found that unnecessarily violent. Swords are sharp and anyone with basic knowledge and some luck can win. He will participate, but later and rather for gold than anything. On the other side, box was more fun, more physical and relied more on strength and skill. Or at least Geralt thought so.

There weren’t any box matches in the camp, but between all the scoundrels, brothels and traders that had their lay in the east next to the walls, the Blue Stripes made a small competition ring, and anybody who wanted could come along and fight a round or more, if he was good enough. It was originally Roche’s idea, as he wanted to distract men (and Ves) from the tempting brothel, but Ryckard, one of the Stripes, came up with the idea of organized matches and already made some gold out of something that was originally intended as an exercise.

Geralt attended with pleasure some matches; the Blue Stripes were good opponents and he was eager to learn something about their tactics. They were happy to see him, as they wanted to measure themselves with a witcher too. Geralt won a few times, and then Roche himself decided to defend the honor of the Blue Stripes. Geralt looked forward to it. Roche was good. He had to fight him once, in Flotsam, to pacify him, and he didn’t remember it gladly. This will make a nicer memory.

They stood against themselves, both ready. Roche had his leather gloves on and took fight stance. Geralt got rid of his swords and bag for founds and was ready too. The fight was long; none of them wanted to lose. Dandelion even came near and started to think out loud verses he will write about this fight. The Blue Stripes supported their commander, but every time Geralt scored they encouraged him. The fight was very equal. 

But the special moment Geralt later recalled many and many times was when Roche, fighting with all his strength, skill and a few dirty tricks, grabbed his ponytail and tried to get his head down. He probably forgot himself a bit with this move and his otherwise carefully hidden sadistic part of his character, which made him such a great soldier, strategist and torturer, came out. He grunted:

“Give up! Give up, or I personally make you kneel and beg, you whoreson!”

It was the basic fight talk between two roughnecks, but Geralt found himself suddenly very aroused. He already considered Roche interesting and had foggy thoughts of them getting off together in some unspecified time after all this shit gets settled somehow. And this went right after his deep, basic need – to be taken care of, having taken his acting power away and being subdued. He had to have the upper hand and be competent all the time, and when someone took it from him, it was intoxicating. It didn’t happen often and most of the time he simply forgot about it. Unless some situation – like this one – reminded him achingly of his desire.

He won only because he fought Roche before and that he could concentrate himself very good; or he would surely lose. Damn, Roche really was skilled fighter. But all skills Geralt could think about now were his bed skills. Roche maybe wasn’t outright beautiful, but he had defined jaw, sharp facial features, solid body, he was a bit smaller than Geralt and yet his presence was commanding. And, Mélitelé forbid, Geralt never was the romantic type… but Roche had nice eyes. Constantly hidden in the shadows, piercing, but fascinating dark brown. Brown may be common color, but no one had as eye-catching brown eyes as Roche, Geralt thought. _Fuck._

Since then began his torment. He never was one to hesitate – if he wanted to fuck, he just asked – but he felt like Roche would consider it as unnecessary distraction in the search for the kingslayer, maybe he would even be disgusted that Geralt forgot about Triss so quickly, too. Sometime later, then. But that didn't stop him from pining and desperate thoughts.

He talked a bit with the barber and changed the hairstyle a few times; he left over hundred orens at the godsdamn barber, but now he was perfectly content with his hair. Raftman’s Do it was.

“Nice hair,” remarked Ves, when he came to the camp. “Practical, no hair in the way when fighting, yet stylish. That dude did good job.”

Roche probably wouldn’t notice if Ves wouldn’t attract his attention by her babble. What by the way was exactly her plan and Geralt was thankful her for that.

He looked at Geralt. “The ponytail stayed, I see. I’ll have the opportunity to catch it again, when we fight. I don’t call that practical. But yes – I approve of this change. You don’t look bad, Geralt.”

This mention of the fight was enough for Geralt; he had to leave fast and he went quickly to the main tent, so the commander wouldn’t see the tent in his trousers. Godsdamn Roche!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live in an Eastern European country and nearly everyone I know has light eyes. I find Roche's eyes really that pretty :)


	3. When others realized

“So, that was my best man, Vernon Roche. How did you like him?” asked King Foltest proudly.

“He seems… efficient at his job,” said Geralt hesitantly. Roche’s method wasn’t his favorite; he rather appreciated fair fight.

“Just like you. I think you two may be good friends,” said King Foltest.

“Where’s your arsefucking buddy now, huh?” provoked Loredo, when he held the halberd and attacked Geralt with big swifts.

“Shut up!” shrieked Ves and again tried to free herself.

“Oh, did I touch some… sore spot?” grinned Loredo.

Geralt didn’t think much about it and concentrated himself only on the giant halberd.

“It’s nice to see you here, since we know you’re most probably not here to kill our king – you can be of great help to us,” said Dethmold with his grating voice. “But, honestly to gods, why did you have to bring that clique of Temerians? Especially, you know, the chief spy of Temeria?”

“I thought you already showed your disgust against Temerians enough, didn’t you?” suggested Geralt. “They got a place next to a brothel” – _Roche surely hates it, I hope that wasn’t intentional_ – “while your dear Nilfgaardians have nice sea view right next to the most important tents. Hm.”

“What are you, his lover?” laughed King Henselt. Geralt didn’t know he listened to them. “Roche is like a roach, he’ll manage.”

Geralt met a lot of monarchs, but King Henselt wasn’t going to be one of his favorites.

Zoltan smiled at Geralt. “Hey, I’m pretty fine with living here. The Stripes are good guys, friendly and whatnot. They like my stories.”

Geralt made a small smile, too. “Glad to hear that, Zoltan. No shapism? Roche is so much against Scoia’tael he sometimes forgets not all inhumans are terrorists.”

Zoltan growled. “Well, the, eh, depraved vibes he gives off, you know what I mean? Those are stronger. And I’m okay with those as long as I’m not the target. You can stay calm, my friend.”

“Hmm,” looked Geralt around. The brothel was rather lower level, but the girls were still nice. Dandelion would criticize, but Geralt only searched after some release, and some girl with big tits could surely give it to him.

But, maybe not. Geralt hesitated.

“Maybe you want take two of them?” Madam Carole smiled sweetly.

“No, no, that’s alright,” said Geralt quickly.

When black-haired, black-eyed Big Bust Miriam sucked on his cock as if there wouldn’t be no tomorrow, Geralt closed the eyes and thought of the commander.

“Stop persuading me, Dandelion.”

“But there sure has to be your type! Well, if it isn’t Triss, what about Síle? That’s a cat, if I’ve seen one!”

Yes, Síle was beautiful. But not the right one.

“Or maybe one of the brothel girls? Don’t be afraid to tell Daddy Dandelion if you have low taste.”

“…That was weird.”

“Ves is maybe too butchy for my taste, but you and her fit nicely together.”

“Listen, Dandelion, seriously, can you stop it? I swear, you don’t want to hear it.”

“Oooh! Now you just _have to_ tell me! I desperately want to know whom have you embraced with your feelings and liking, if not Triss.”

“Okay, you wanted it for yourself, fine! It’s Commander Roche.”

“B-but Geralt! Really? That’s the one who fills your sleepless thoughtful nights? I can’t believe! You aim high, right – it had to be just the highest one we have here?! What a steadfast boy you are!”

“Firstly: The highest rank out of us all has King Henselt. And secondly, you… have nothing better to say about me liking _that guy?_ You know, the one you once described like _as stiff as a sole?”_

“Geralt, firstly if we’re talking King Henselt now, then is Roche always better choice. And secondly… well, you always had strange taste. Let’s just hope the commander is stiff enough in particular places, haha!”

“You two?” Adam Pangratt coughed up some blood.

Geralt was sorry to see him like that. He didn’t like him much, but they met a lot in Kaedweni camp, one time in an arm-wrestling match and Pangratt was a good opponent. He looked at Roche and kneeled next to the seriously injured Kaedweni commander.

“How come you look at him all the time?” remarked Pangratt. “I took notice, don’t you think I didn’t. You witchers should be neutral, but you spent a bit too much time with those traitors. And looking at their commander like that, even when a brothel was just over there.”

“Those weren’t traitors. You said you weren’t there,” said Geralt and hoped Roche hasn’t heard the rest. 

“Hm,” said King Radovid. “Strange companion you’re with, witcher.”

Geralt could say a lot of things. But Radovid V. the Stern was smarter than an average monarch and he knew that, so he needed to be wary. Truth will be best.

“Roche is my friend,” Geralt said. “I trust him.”

Roche looked at him as if Geralt would be crazy. _You shouldn’t trust no one, less so saying to other people who do you trust!_ His spy pride was visibly hurt. _Haven’t I learned you anything, Geralt?_ But he seemed to be surprised, too. How many people have ever said they could trust him?

“Hm,” made King Radovid again. “Well, tell me about Henselt’s death, will you?”

Geralt tried to lie about this unpleasant topic. But King Radovid was, as already said, smart.

“That’s not true and I know it, witcher,” he shook his head. “What really happened?”

Geralt looked at Roche _(Adam Pangratt laughs from the next world)_ and decided to lie again. “Henselt commanded to kill all of the Blue Stripes. It was a murder. I couldn’t do it another way. He died through my hand.”

He was a fool for thinking that maybe Brigida Papebrock would be all in for a quick intercourse between the trees. That woman clearly knew what she wanted and sex with a witcher in a dangerous forest definitely wasn’t on the list. Plus, she wasn’t his type, he was more and more sure of it with every step. Those unflattering curls! If she hid away like a rat, where found she time for making these curls?! Geralt spent enough time with women to know these were rather a result of long, thorough work than a nature’s blessing. She didn’t seem very trustworthy, but that was probably because of her true occupation – a spy. And she didn’t like Roche.

“Roche, Roche, Roche – could you stop talking about him? You’re here with me, not with him,” she said with a sharp voice. 

The witcher could sometimes read emotions surprisingly well. “Are unrequited feelings speaking for you, maybe?”

Brigida was quick. “And for you? Maybe you’re the jealous one, witcher?”

That was like a whiplash. And Brigida didn’t let it be; only seconds later she said: “Your dear Roche seems to have been wrong. It’s calm here.”

Geralt turned his eyes. “Commander Roche is my friend. Stop it.”

Brigida laughed. “Tell that someone else, witcher! He doesn’t have friends. Only lovers who aren’t left alive for very long.”

Geralt decided to shut up. It was hard to argue with sharp-tongued women like Brigida.

The walk wasn’t as calm as thought; they had to fight a few groups of bandits, the biggest one right after they realized Brigida’s smuggler is dead. The bandits had a magician and bursted out of the bushes; Geralt thought that this will be their end.

“It’s that Roche’s slut, kill them!”

“You mean me or him?!” shrieked Brigida and pulled out a sharp dagger. “Come here, bastards!”

The girl, if anything, had fighting spirit.

“I hope you don’t judge me for this decision, witcher,” said John Natalis after he dealt with Maravel.

“It’s not my job to judge,” said Geralt. “You did what you thought would be best for Temeria. Roche would probably agree.”

“Roche…” said John Natalis thoughtful. “Be wary of him.”

“He’s my friend.”

“That’s not what I meant. He only has the good of one thing on heart; Temeria. And will ever have.”

“I was already told that. Thanks.”

“And there’s one more thing. You know he’s… not like us?”

“I know he likes men. And honestly, Commander Natalis?” Geralt smiled so wide that he showed his teeth; it was an unsettling look. “Maybe that’s exactly the reason I want to be his friend.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” said Síle de Tansarville breathless, as Geralt helped her with the broken megaskop.

“You don’t deserve it,” said Geralt coldly. “It’s only my emotions. I can’t control them as well as I should. It’s a defect on my side.”

Síle narrowed her eyes. “But you deserve something for this unexpected outburst of your emotions. You know what? Search for Yennefer in Nilfgaard.” Then she made a pause. “But only if the feelings for your commander haven’t grown stronger,” she smiled smugly. 

Geralt was silent.

“Emotions; it’s hard with them,” she said mockingly as she adjusted her megaskop and went through the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved to write these exchanges, it was fun! But the last chapter isn't written yet (uh-oh). I would really embrace some comments on this fic, don't be shy and tell me about your feelings!
> 
> By the way: there's a short segment on Tumblr I wrote about those two. Just come and read! https://hagebutt.tumblr.com/post/629806194859638784/after-nilfgaard-takes-over-the-northern-kingdoms


	4. When Vernon Roche realized

Roche’s work rarely allowed himself the luxury of feelings; feelings changed slowly into a net of favors and dependency, and he couldn’t afford that. Plus, with his preferences it was only harder to find a release, even without feelings. Of course, he worked almost exclusively with men, so he took liberty in some occasional looking and thinking... and sometimes, there was an outcome. But looking and thinking was often sufficient, especially when he saw some exquisite exemplar.

Like now. In another times, the witcher would definitely be an object of his interest. He was handsome, with his muscles and unusual appearance and confidence and those two swords and everything. When he sat against him in the dungeon, Roche even had a fleeing thought that he could force himself on him and later order to hang him – no witnesses, no problems, he was known for his efficiency after all – but he dismissed this thought immediately. He had only one goal now and needed any help he could get.

Roche evolved some respect for the witcher in Flotsam, as he saw how Geralt, next to all the gigs he had to do to earn some living, diligently searched for Leto, and was glad to have him here for the ambush he planned to do. Yes, Roche relied a lot on his skills and mutations, but the work Geralt did on the ambush itself was breathtaking nonetheless. He would love to have him incorporated into the Blue Stripes, independently of his pariah status, because this level of competency and skill was really respectable. Ves told him about all the parts of fight he couldn’t see, and he himself went after the fight through Loredo’s mansion – to secure evidence – and he saw tracks of many things Ves hasn’t seen. To come through a secret entry in a cave nobody really knew of was such a witcher move. His respect then went considerably up.

When he couldn’t have Geralt, it felt good that at least Ves was happy when she got laid; the witcher was decent enough and handled her with care and respect. Even after the act – and that wasn’t something common between the men of that time. Geralt somehow wasn't the man Roche thought him to be; he should be crazy of sadness after his mistress, that witch Merigold, but he visited the camp brothel a lot and chased carelessly every skirt. He knew most people aren't exactly the pinnacle of fidelity, but he thought Geralt loved Merigold.

One day he aimlessly watched Geralt to go into a brothel, but after some time Geralt went out through the door in the tower next to the brothel. Roche forgot to breathe. _So, he knows._ Maybe not about his role, but definitely about the conspiracy. Damn! He should talk to him unsuspiciously.

“Something new?” he asked Geralt, as Geralt came, sat down in his tent and drank two bottles of water at once.

“Something other than that Henselt is a dumbass?”

Roche was thrown off the concept. “Why?” he asked dull. What does Henselt got to do with this?

“I mean, yeah, if you’re a king, you probably have lotsa foes. But having the main tent of the conspirators right next to your camp and not noticing? Then you’re asking for that.”

“You discovered the main tent of the conspirators,” repeated Roche warily. “What are you gonna do now?”

“Well, I’m not a patrol. I’m definitely not running to the two and babble out everything, they don’t pay me enough for that and never will. The only thing I wanted is this,” he showed an old armor, which clearly belonged to Vinson Traut before. Shit.

“I need this stuff for the battle of spectres. Well, yeah, of course I’m gonna get money for the dead, but I’m not Henselt’s nanny or detective.”

“Can't wait for running after Merigold? I should probably keep still about your extensive visits of the brothel when we finally meet her, shouldn’t I?” Roche laughed rustily.

"There are more important things for me, Roche... I don't like her as much as before, you know.”

Roche wondered why would Geralt be open with him like that, and then: _Roche? Not ‘commander’?_

And now they stood before King Radovid, Roche still held sorrow but had to focus on the new riddle and their conversation kept getting more and more weird. Why would Geralt say he's his friend? And lie about who is the kingslayer? What was this charade for?

Radovid didn’t look very convinced, though. “I thought Roche was a man who nearly commanded to hang you as the kingslayer, and now here you’re running around, saying he’s your friend and doing the dirty work for him. Well, you’re definitely an adorable couple.”

There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence. Both Geralt and Roche avoided each other’s look.

“I can’t say I believe you, but one of you is definitely a kingslayer and I won’t look into it too much. Let’s say you owe me a favor.”

They went out and Roche thought _well, that was weird._ Something dawned on him, but then that damned Brigida Papebrock came and asked for help.

And now they went through a part of Loc Muinne they never were before; Dethmold’s camp. They both were ready to fight. Dethmold was dangerous and smart; he wouldn’t leave his trump card unwatched. And they were right; a lot of Kaedweni mercenaries soon appeared, together with Dethmold’s apprentice. This fight was going to be big.

Roche realized that if Geralt died, he would never know what exactly happened around the betrayal of the Temerian lords – the valuable knowledge would be lost. Maybe he should take more time in the dungeons and ask more.

“How did you like the lords?” He wanted to sound informally, so the witcher wouldn’t be too concentrated on their talk and get himself killed because of the lost attention. Then he thought: _Maybe I get old. Since when do I something like this for someone?_ He cared about Geralt and let him get too close.

“Uh, the lords? Both some proper fuckbags, if you ask me,” said Geralt while he quickly oiled his sword. “Kimbolt handled me like a dirt, but I’m used to that. Maravel was… slimy. He-“ Geralt ran against a bunch of soldiers and begun to fight. His answer got lost in the clashing of the swords. Roche got out his crossbow and supported him from the distance, his sword ready to bare. They were good in fighting together; Geralt took part of some trainings with the Blue Stripes and now knew how to fight with an archer as support, which was Roche’s specialty.

“-was sweettalking me, you could see that,” continued Geralt, as Roche sprung off the wall down to him and helped him to eliminate the last ones. “I asked him about Brigida and he began to babble poetic nonsense. And he behaved a bit too familiarly, to be honest – he made some hints at you and then when I asked what he meant with that he said we’re such friends, you surely would tell me over a glass of some good wine.”

“I don't drink wine.”

“Yeah, I know, exactly. Then he said you fucked Brigida and-“

Another bunch. And bigger one. Roche had to hold himself. He was extremely interested in what Geralt had to say about that, but they now had to concentrate on not getting killed. Geralt went right after the biggest ones, tearing them down with his sword – the oil he used worked wonders, but they still were a lot – and flashed a lot of Signs. He will be exhausted soon.

Roche fired a lot of arrows and targeted them especially at Detmold’s apprentice, as he wanted to distract him from shooting too much fire at Geralt. He watched Geralt, so he could save him if Geralt got into problems.

He let some thoughts slip into the cadence of loading and firing arrows from the crossbow. He liked Geralt. Maybe even more than liked, he figured that out at their ship as they sailed further through the Pontar Valley, to get here, into Loc Muinne. He liked his calm presence, how he never judged him. He let him to do the thing with Henselt and later just offered some words of reassurance. _Geralt clearly saw him as a friend, he shouldn’t be that surprised at Radovid’s._

 _Friend._ What an unusual word; probably even Ves wouldn’t be called that in his mind.

He brought down another two soldiers – archery was underestimated yet efficient – and again sprung down to help Geralt. He took out his mace and finished off all soldiers Geralt cut through. Then he watched, from a hideaway, how Geralt took out Dethmold’s apprentice. It was a big fight; the air was full of magic and sparkles from the unnatural fire. But Geralt was faster and nimbler, and so the fight ended in his favour.

Before they went into Dethmold’s dungeon, Geralt clearly wanted to catch up with his story. “So, he said that. And I said yeah, I will make sure and ask Roche. He clearly didn’t like I believe more you than some Temerian bigwig. Because I don’t believe him, and it’s not only because he turned out to be a traitor. Because, well, Brigida-“

“Brigida Papebrock,” chuckled Roche. “You saw it for yourself, right?”

Geralt chuckled too. “I hoped for some quickie between the trees when we were at the beginning of our trip. But that woman is horrible! I honestly don’t understand how she could seduce so many guys, I was outright repelled by her and her curls. So, I thought, you too are a man of taste.”

“Yeah, that’s about right.”

“And of course, I know you like men, so I knew Maravel was just talking shit.”

With this sentence Geralt turned his back and went to the dungeon, with Roche behind him as struck by lightning.

They went through the now useless barrier and in the hall, they saw King Henselt’s dead body on the catafalque. Roche knelt next to it; now he saw clearly what he has done. He didn’t regret the murder of the king; the things Henselt said about Ves still were grating in his ears, and he still wanted to kill Dethmold, for the other Blue Stripes. They deserved that. It was his fault they all ended up dead, just as they thought their commander’s going to be appraised and were happy for him. But he saw the chaos that ruled now when the Last of the Unicorns was dead. Pretty much the only one who will gain from this was Nilfgaardian emperor, and maybe Radovid, if he will be smart and agile enough to unite the North, and broken states were hard to unify. It didn’t look good for Temeria, however hard John Natalis tried. The first Roche’s actually selfish decision should have very far-reaching consequences.

“Let’s get Dethmold,” said Geralt and placed his warm, heavy hand on his shoulder. “Roche. Please. Get up.”

And so they went for Dethmold, and this was his end. They went into his chamber, two decided killing machines, and it was very easy to get him down. Dethmold did the mistake to attack Geralt first, as he evaluated him based on his fighting abilities as more immediate danger, and greatly underestimated Roche’s anger and rage. It looked like Geralt just pushed him lazily away, but Dethmold ended on the floor with a broken arm. He sweared and cursed them both, but Roche did take no shit and kneeled next to him, with drawn dagger. This did not look good for the sorcerer.

Geralt stood next to the two and let them be, because this was Roche’s fight. Roche needed to get the closure to sleep better at night. Geralt saw the scrawny man, crouching in the corner and now looking at laying Dethmold with a delight. He probably wasn’t very happy to have to spend time with Dethmold. Geralt knew why he was there; that was pretty clear. For Dethmold’s lust. Roche understood it too, and wanted to perversely humiliate Dethmold, to save his own masculinity in some twisted way. He wanted to say to Geralt _I’m not like him. I hate myself for my wants. Do not think of me this way._ He castrated him in a very impressive scene, where Dethmold wrought like a worm and pleaded for his life, promised, but Roche was dead set. For his Blue Stripes, the elite unit of Temerian army, which was no more. He castrated him, crammed the rag of meat into Dethmold’s mouth and cut through his throat, all of this with scary efficiency.

Without the castrating business, Geralt would be probably turned on. In the moment he was infatuated with Roche’s efficient determination. He himself tended to be rather forgiving to nihilistic, as he killed too many, and every time he could he solved the problem without fight. (That didn’t mean he was some naïve hero. He never dodged a fight that had to be fought.) But he often tended to be too soft for his own detriment, as people he fought for often deceived him. Roche would never take unnecessarily shit. He always looked directly through and wasn’t afraid to handle on his information.

They freed Anaïs, which hesitantly took Roche’s hand. She knew him, but only cursorily, and it was understandable she was distrustful after all the things she lived through recently. But Roche gave her promptly a small dagger and told her she could fight back with that should she feel in danger, and that, surprisingly, calmed the girl down enough. She clearly was of royal blood.

As they went through the sewers, they discussed what to do next and eventually came back to the topic they talked through before.

“Thanks, Geralt. I always thought you would be a great… soldier if you would learn the discipline. That was brilliant action.” He clearly wanted to say “member of the Blue Stripes”, but stopped himself. Too soon. “You helped me a lot, even if you’d probably rather deal with your affairs.”

“Of course I helped you, Roche. I see you, after everything we lived through, as a friend. Don’t forget that.”

“I don’t do… friends. Or that sort of thing, really.”

Geralt clearly lost his patience. “Everyone says you’re too sullen and cranky to have friends. But I like you as you are.” He looked shortly at Anaïs to show him there is more he has to say. “I don’t care. I met a lot of people who looked unmanageable at first and yet they got to be my friends.”

“Yeah?”

“My mate from our guild, Lambert, is an absolute prick. You should meet; I feel like you have a lot in common.”

Roche just looked at him and held Anaïs stronger. _We will talk about this,_ he tried to communicate through his look.

And they talked, as Anaïs was brought into Roche’s small hideout, where she could refresh herself and relax. She would like to play and discover Loc Muinne a bit, but Roche sternly forbade her to do anything that could give her away. She wasn’t very happy about it but later fell quickly asleep. It was a lot for a small girl. Now when she was safe the men could take some time for themselves.

They wandered around Loc Muinne a bit, and ended up in the labyrinth of old, broken walls behind the poker den. Geralt killed some gargoyles here, so he knew his way around. It was nice here; walls of Loc Muinne were colored with sunset and the wind cooled down their heated faces.

“Care to tell me what happened, Geralt?” asked Roche with firm voice. “I thought we’re at best people bound by the necessity, and now you’re running around, telling everyone I’m your friend. How did I deserve this? Not talking about my, hm, secret. How come you’re okay with it?”

Geralt shrugged. “We spent more time together than thought. I realized it as we went up here; didn’t we talk about lots of stuff, fought and built camps together? That’s how friends are made.” He told the truth mostly; he only conveniently left out how much he thought about Commander Roche as of more than a friend.

“You’re right,” said Roche thoughtfully.

“And, which secret do you mean? Henselt absolutely deserved it, I haven’t changed my mind about that swine.”

“The… other one.”

“You liking men? That’s no secret,” said Geralt smoothly, leaving out the excruciating talk with Ves. “I’m really fine with that. Met my share of men who went this way and they were just as good as any other men I ever met. And,” the witcher’s voice became breathless a little, “I’m not against having my needs met with men occasionally. Really.”

Roche was still for some time. “And all the sorceresses?” he asked after a while.

“They just are jumping in my bed in packs,” shrugged Geralt and it flashed in his eyes shortly.

Roche laughed shortly and then they were silent, both of them wanting to jump to the conclusion, but neither wanting to be the first one who’ll say it.

“So… I guess… we let things go their way?” proposed Geralt after a while. “You have to agree that a lot of stuff is going on already.”

Roche clearly loosened up. “Yeah. No time for that.”

“Only one thing though. Can I call you with your first name now? You know, you being my friend and all that.”

Roche laughed. “Never. You’re allowed to drop the ‘Commander’ now, though.“

“As you say, Vernon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you guess from whose perspective will the last chapter be? there's a system ;)


	5. When Triss realized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: short erotic segment

In retrospective, she should have probably realized it way sooner. True, in the chaos of everything that happened at Loc Muinne, she shouldn’t blame herself. All her guild comrades were murdered. It was another bloodbath, just too typical for current times, but that hadn’t helped. Merigold was afraid for her life, mad with fright and sadness. Her Geralt was nowhere to see, the dragon most probably got him. She was ready to mourn him, but Letho, who, strangely, protected her against the knights of White Rose gone mad, repeated:

“He lives. Haven’t seen anyone as tough as that guy in my whole life.”

And after the whole scene, when she realized why Letho has protected her (it was for bargaining, she was just an asset, how disheartening) and Geralt had a rather lengthy conversation with him and then left, he just left, as if he wasn’t interested in any kind of catharsis. As if Letho hasn’t kidnapped her in Flotsam, as if the whole history hasn’t overturned his life.

Geralt of Rivia changed in the few weeks they haven’t seen each other. It looked like he grew wiser, or maybe rather more nihilistic, or… his plans and goals just changed. He searched after her, but hasn’t rescued her, he preferred to do some weird political tasks for his new companion.

Honestly, Triss hoped she wouldn’t have to see Vernon Roche again. As a former Foltest’s counselor she knew the amount of blood that clung to Roche’s hands. He was a soldier, a spy, a torturer. She was wary to give him her trust. The misogynistics remarks he had about her also didn’t help. So she was a bit disappointed as she realized Geralt stuck with him the whole time and that Roche went with them after they went off Loc Muinne.

Now they sat around a small fire in an encampment they made together, as they descended from the old elven city to the Pontar. Triss sat on one end, huddled with warm quilts, and she recovered from things she lived through. She wanted to protect them with her magic, but she was just too weak for it now. The compression was an extremely unpleasant experience and she hadn’t enough time for recovery later, with all the happenings. Geralt gave her some quilts, made fire and promised to look out for them with his swords, but hadn’t joined her under the tree where she sat, as she would expect, after the long time he spent with looking for her. No, he seemed to enjoy Roche’s company more.

Triss didn’t like it.

The worst thing was that it went like this the whole time they were wandering to Pontar. She thought Geralt would talk more with her throughout the day or do the small acts of kindness he always did, or join her in the evening at the fire, or hug her in her sleep. She knew the witcher as a man who never neglected a woman that he could, basically, talk into some shagging sooner or later. And Triss would happily give herself to him, as she loved him.

But no, the man seemed to choose Roche as more likeable person to spend the whole time with. They talked, Geralt often helped him with small unimportant tasks, they often went together hunting and they sat together at the fire, talking about war stories and politics and whatnot. Triss was used to non-partisan Geralt, who despised all monarchs and influential men, and this was outright weird.

She even made a remark about it one day, as they were in the front and talked about the outcome of agreements at Loc Muinne and their impact on Temeria. That was their favorite topic. Triss found it interesting and as former royal counselor she would have plenty to bring to the conversation, but they didn’t even try to engage her in.

“Geralt, what happened to you? Since when are you interested in politics?”

“My blood became blue and silver,” he said with a small smile that wasn’t meant for her.

Triss felt her heart drowning. She tried for so long to get Geralt invested in the matters of her country, and now he just did, while she was away, and it didn’t even take much time. How?

Roche ignored her the whole time. She knew he didn’t really like women, and that only tough types like that one girl of the Blue Stripes were able to earn his respect. He didn’t try to hide he didn’t think much of sorceresses. Triss couldn’t wait to split up. Where was his unit anyway? They probably awaited them at the ship Geralt and Roche came with on Pontar. Well, that was probably the farewell point. Maybe Geralt just wanted to enjoy the company of a man he made friends within the short time before they say goodbye to each other.

She still was unhappy but now she tried to be understanding. They spent a lot of time together searching after her; they probably just found likings in each other and were sad to part their ways soon and dealt with it like men – by silent mourning. She really tried to tell herself that soon will everything be like before.

And at that evening she decided to take things into her own hands; if prophet Lebioda can’t come to the mountain, the mountain has to come to the prophet Lebioda. She hadn’t any glamarye tincture, but that was no problem; she was allergic to potions anyways. A good sorceress knows how to help herself. She used various enchantments, which made her pupils bigger, her skin shinier and her hair more luscious, and then she washed herself and her clothes in near brook thoroughly. This had to work. She knew about her advantages. Geralt liked her, he just needed a little reminder.

How will she get rid of Roche? She will send him a telepathic message. They used that a few times, it was a great secret weapon in the king’s court. She hated to come in touch with Vernon’s mind. She felt like she would dip her mind into a puddle of blood, even when she knew it’s only autosuggestion. She hated it, but it was very useful, and she knew Roche always did what she telepathically suggested. Later he screamed at her, vilified her, interrogated why she thought that step was necessary, but in the moment, he just relied on her assessment of the situation. They were a good team; if Foltest was still be alive, together with Geralt they would build an invincible hansa of Temerian internal affairs.

Now she only had to wait until they come from the hunt. That could take some time; Roche took in his head that Geralt should learn to shoot with a crossbow and could be very nagging with that. Triss went with them once, but as she was still too weak and it was outright _boring_ – stealthing through woods and being very, very quiet, while Roche talked exclusively about good shooting distance and discipline and right breathing, she now always made some fine excuse every next time they mentioned they go to shoot.

And then something happened - something that made her realize nothing will be like before. As she went from the brook, with wet hair and in some coarse smock and breeches, she decided to take another way, to look after some herbs for potions she should make soon. And while she zigzagged through trees, going further and further away, she heard it. Heavy breathing, curse words, repeated motions.

She used a small, fine spell to enhance her senses, and now she saw it, that thing, that creeped to her mind as cold realization since she heard the first noises.

Roche stood, leaning against a tree with his back, his gambeson and chainmail armor opened, exposing his lean, sturdy chest with a lot of tattoos which stood out in the strange twilight Triss’ world changed into after using the enhancing spell. His eyes were half closed. Geralt was in front of him, kneeling. And clearly having the time of his life. He hugged Roche’s hips tightly, moaning as if he would drown without Roche’s cock in his mouth.

Okay. Triss wasn’t exactly shocked – she knew Geralt before the memory loss and she knew he liked both sexes –, but she was surprised. That was unexpected.

“Now listen, you little bitch,” grunted Roche. “I said – listen! Don’t you know how I handle insubordination? I said do your work _properly!”_

Geralt clearly liked being ordered around. He really strived. And he was good; Triss licked her lips. As perverse as it was – it was _her_ man! – the show was nice.

Roche probably liked it, too; the next moment, he dug his fingers into Geralt’s hair and came. “You did good. Good job,” he gasped.

Well, Triss didn’t need to see more. Now she needed to be first in the encampment, to prevent them from knowing. _That’s going to be one hell of an interrogation, Geralt._

She sat at fire, drying her clothes (she didn’t obstruct herself with drying spell now), as they came back. They were holding a few shot birds and seemed relaxed. Now she saw this – the small touches, the knowing glances. It was there.

“Geralt, darling, come here,” she called him with her sweetest voice. He obediently came, letting Roche deal with the catch, and sat down next to her.

She looked at him, her chest nearly bare, as she let the smock open. “Shooting, were we?” Geralt nodded. She let her fingers wander on his new Vran armor. It suited him. Then she found what she searched for. A white streak of semen. He didn’t even take off his armor. Maybe Roche liked that.

“Looks like arrows weren’t the only thing you were shooting?” she asked gently, as she wiped the streak off with her finger. As she looked up, she saw the witcher blushed. He wasn’t able to blush much, but this was remarkable; the biggest blush she has ever seen on him.

“Would you like to satisfy me tonight, too?” she continued in the gentle manner. “You, our big hero, who certainly manages to handle two lovers… or am I wrong?”

Her question should be the bouncing point for the witcher who could still her doubts and establish his skills and manliness, but he didn’t react in the way she hoped for. Instead, he sighed and turned away.

And then he told her. That he will always be grateful for everything she did for him after he lost his memory. But that the betrayal, how she never told him about his found family, and kept quiet about the feelings he may feel, that was too much. He stopped loving her and he’s sorry for that.

Triss nearly cried for losing the man she loved from her life, knowing Geralt was exceptional.

“You shouldn’t be so close to him,” she said in the last desperate try. “Do you know what he has done?”

Geralt didn’t even say a word as he got up and went over to the other side of the fire, to Roche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, we're at the end! Even if I don't consider this my best story, it was really helpful to realize what I like about my new OTP and what do I want to discover about them next.
> 
> I was inspired by many works in this relationship tag here, but @SebDoesWords and their "To Become a Kingslayer" deserve to be mentioned as it was the main inspiration to write something about these two, too.
> 
> I will very much appreciate any opinions about this story you'd like to share with me; if you suffer by Head Empty syndrome, there's an easy form for comments in my profile. Comments are important, guys!
> 
> (Yes, I haven't killed Letho in my playthrough.)


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